User blog:KodiakPackAttack/-Story- Iorwyn nic Angelystor - Doubt
Doubt Early November, 4E 43 Not long after the Battle of the Blackwood, Iorwyn spirited away from the Wolfenhold. Her wounds were healing, but something was missing from her soul that had not yet been found… and she needed to find it. With nothing but a few traveling leathers, a cloak, and her horse, she rode out before the sun crested over the mountains. South. Her destination was clear -- perhaps the only thing clear in her mind, plagued by doubt and uncertainty -- the Temple of Storms, far down along the coast of Fadryn. No one could help her on this journey but her old mentor… no one could know what listlessness had plagued her. Perhaps it was the Rot? Had taken root in her mind? Perhaps Kaiden would have known how to cure it… She shook her head. It’s no matter now; he is dead. I cannot dwell on that. Immediate regret swelled with the sunrise. She would have been a dark rider in the night… At least the sun wouldn’t be in my eye. But the roving green hills were a beautiful sight in the crisp autumn morning. Soon enough the farmlands of Penfro would be in sight around midday, should she travel fast enough. She patted Dewrder’s neck, urging him to make haste. The distances they had traveled were far greater with far heavier a weight and she had packed lightly. As she loosened the reins and squeezed his flanks with her taut thighs, Dewrder knew what to do -- he began to run. He was a free spirit this morning, eager to make progress. Iorwyn whispered Kalimag words of power into his ear and asked for the wind spirit’s blessing to push them far further and faster than Dewrder could truly bring them. Speeding through Penfro without stopping neither for rest nor to allow the villagers to recognize her, they sped beyond its borders. Dewrder could not keep this pace indefinitely, after two hours of solid running the beast of war came to a slow walking pace with Iorwyn’s feet on the ground. “We’re on the border of Fadryn now,” Iorwyn spoke to Dewrder. “A day’s travel done in half of one. We’ve set a good pace, no?” The dark horse only a clicked in response, his breathing heavy as they moved along the dirt roads of Fadryn. Perhaps some time away to clear her mind and travel the peace roads of the Heartlands was what she needed to banish the thoughts that plagued her. “I can’t describe the way I feel, Dewrder,” she said quietly. “Shame, frustration… grief. Despite everything we’ve managed to overcome, to get a pardon and lead our small group back into the Wolfenhold…” She shook her head. What does a horse know? She knew she couldn’t blame herself; she couldn’t blame her horse for not understanding. There was no one to blame but those who acted against them… Right? Evening fell with the sun setting at her back. The two companions moved off the road and into an alcove of trees. She gathered some wood and lit a fire, pausing to give Dewrder some water and oats. As she sat by the fire to rest herself, however, she took out a book of blank paper and a charcoal pencil and began to write: First Entry, November 4E 43 My capabilities as a leader have been tested multiple times now -- not just in the past few years, but also within the past week. These vagabonds, vagrants, adventurers… some of them have embraced becoming a Warden. Some, I fear, do not and only hold on to the title because they want to follow me. As a Rhyfelwyr, I doubt myself even more. A balance must be struck between warrior and shaman, yet I find myself to be more warrior than shaman. Certainly the Wind Spirit comes to my calls and lightning follows in its wake, but the other spirits? I am kin to earth, but I hear not its whispers. The flames dance in front of me, but I see not its true grace. Water flows through my body and beats upon my brow yet it is not the soothing embrace I expect. My thoughts turn to Fuh’ria’s struggle with her faith. Though Lightforged, the Light does not always come at her call. Whatever spirit guides the Light -- be it Elune or the Naaru or some other cosmic force, she persists tenaciously through and has managed to persevere to better the Wolfenhold. Whatever… blockage I am experiencing is heightening my self-doubt; my anxiety. I fear that I am not the right person to be Commandant nor Rhyfelwyr nor anything. She stopped there, reading over the Saesneg words; she was tempted to tear the two pages out or throw the entire book into the flames, but she did not. No… I must keep this. Category:Blog posts Category:Writing Category:Mynyw